Knaves' Wager (4 page)

"Fiddlesticks! You have made a profession of bending women to your will. You will not persuade me you cannot wrap this baggage about your finger, clever though she may be. You are simply too lazy to trouble with any matter not pertaining to your own pleasure."

She rose to deliver her parting shot. "You are spoiled, vain, selfish, and far too clever and good-looking for your own good. I pray that one day — and may I be alive to see it — a woman will cut up your peace. Pleasure has taught you nothing. Mayhap pain will." With that, her small, rigid figure swept out of the breakfast room.

Lord Belbridge threw his cousin a reproachful glance. "I wish you wouldn't tease her, Julian. She takes it out on me after."

"Have you considered sending her to Wellington, George? Perhaps she might be employed to browbeat Napoleon into submission. I wonder no one thought of that before." Having finished his breakfast during the marchioness's verbal bombardment, Lord Brandon took up the newspaper.

George sighed, went to the sideboard, and filled his plate. When he sat down again, his cousin asked from behind the newspaper in a very bored voice, "Are you acquainted with, a fellow by the name of Bexley? Sir Thomas Bexley?"

"Nut intimately acquainted. He's a deal too political for my tastes. Still, one can't help knowin' of him. One of Liverpool's proteges."

"I see. An ambitious young man."

"Ambitious, yes, but he's forty if he's a day. Looks older. Goin' bald," George explained. "Probably all those years in the West Indies did it. Bought plantations there, you know, with his wife's dowry. Made pots. Came back…well I couldn't say when, exactly. Two or three years ago, maybe. After he lost his wife."

The marquess glanced over the paper. "Careless of him."

"She passed on, Julian," his cousin answered with a touch of vexation. "Dash it, you've got no respect, even for the dead. She passed on, and the poor fellow came back and I guess he buried his sorrow in politics. They say he's movin' on fast. Shouldn't be surprised to find him in the ministry one day."

George swallowed a few mouthfuls. After a moment or two, he asked, "if you don't know him, what makes you ask?"

"Boredom, I suppose."

"Somethin' in the paper?"

"Only that his engagement is announced."

George put down his silverware. "You don't say! He's done it, then. Well, there's a few chaps stand to lose money on
that
. Mean to say — it's Davenant's widow he's marryin', ain't it?"

Lord Brandon nodded.

"Better him than me. Feel an east wind blowin' just thinkin' of her. Cold female, Julian. But you knew her, I expect. You and Davenant were together a good deal." George returned to his meal.

"I never met the lady then. She was in Derbyshire. Charles was in London. He took ill and returned to the country shortly after I was required to take residence out of England."

"I recollect. Annoyin' that. And not a bit fair. Stupid female. Burstin' out from the wood, shriekin'. If it wasn't for her, you'd have only winged him. A wonder we weren't all killed. Duel's no place for a woman."

"Perhaps, having provoked the situation, Lady Advers felt obliged to see it through to the conclusion. At any rate, she taught me a valuable lesson."

"Yes. Keep away from married women."

The marquess laughed. "Good heavens, no, George. What I learned was never to let my attention wander, on any account."

Two hours later, Lord Brandon threw his relatives into transports of joy and relief when he announced plans to proceed to London that very day. He was bored with rustication, he said, and from all reports, Castlereagh seemed to be muddling along well enough without his dubious assistance. Since he had nothing better to do elsewhere, Lord Brandon thought he might toddle off to look into this tiresome little matter of Robert's nuptials.

3

Lord enders's opera box was rarely an object of interest to the audience. If he and his wife had company, it was bound to be the wife's brother. Sir Thomas Bexley, and he was sure to be escorting Mrs, Charles Davenant. Though Bexley was absent tonight, the widow was not, and her severely cut, sombrely coloured costumes had never aroused envy or even interest in her neighbours.

Lady Enders was equally unexciting. Hers were the same passable features as her brother's. Unlike him, however, she always appeared fussy, a veritable snowstorm of stiffly starched ruffles and. furbelows heaped upon her gown, and the entire contents of her jewel-box mounded upon her throat and bosom.

Nonetheless, on this particular evening, the opera box received second, third — indeed countless — glances from a majority of the gentlemen present. This was because tonight a young lady broke the monotony. She was a jewel of a. young lady, with her guinea-gold curls, her wide blue eyes, her dainty nose, and (here the sighs became audible) her pink, bee-stung lips. More than one masculine pulse accelerated at the sight of Miss Cecily Glenwood,

"I see we may expect a stampede at the intermission," said Lady Enders in an undertone. "I had not thought it possible, but the child is even prettier than her cousins."

One of her rare smiles softened Mrs. Davenant's features. "She is a dear, sweet girl as well," she said softly, "Those her beauty attracts will return on account of her nature."

"You have always been so fortunate in your girls, Lilith. Lady Shumway, on the other hand — Why, whatever are they gaping at?"

The enquiry was occasioned by a sudden stirring in the audience. The usual buzz of voices preceding the curtain's rise had swelled to a Babel, and every head was swivelling in the same direction.

Lilith followed the general gaze… and stifled a gasp. The Marquess of Brandon, in the company of one fair-haired gentleman and one brunette female — of obviously dubious character — had entered the box nearly opposite.

"Brandon!" Lady Enders whispered harshly. "I cannot believe my eyes. He has not been seen in Society in years. Why, he has scarcely been in England, to my knowledge — not since he killed Advers in that scandalous duel. Seven years ago that was, when Brandon had to flee the country. Wicked man! Do you see how brazenly he stares back at them, the insufferable scoundrel?"

Mrs. Davenant had looked away as soon as she recognised him. Like her companion, she had observed how more than one head turned away, abashed, upon meeting the marquess's haughty stare.

Cecily had not missed this phenomenon. "Why, Aunt," she said, "is that not the gentleman — " Then she fell silent.

Puzzled, Lilith slanted another quick glance at the box. She'd not regarded the other, younger; gentleman before. Now she perceived he was perfectly capable of attracting notice in his own right, for he was remarkably good-looking. Still, had not Cecily expressed an aversion to blonds?

Lilith was about to point out that staring was rude when she experienced a prickling sensation at the base of her skull. Almost reflexively, she looked away from Cecily and across the theater… and locked with Lord Brandon's mocking gaze.

The marquess smiled and made an elaborate bow.

Instantly, Lilith felt every eye in the audience upon her. Her poise held, however. She did not withdraw, in confu-sion or otherwise. Turning deliberately from the marquess, her own gaze swept coldly over the audience and finally came to rest upon the stage. To her relief, the orchestra started up.

Mrs. Davenant heard little of the performance. She could not have said afterwards whether it had been Gluck or Mozart. Lord Brandon's presence had spoiled it for her, tainted the very atmosphere of the hall. She was too conscious of him throughout, too tense with pretending he was not there. Nor did Rachel improve matters by relating in rasping whispers every outrage the marquess had ever committed.

By the interval, Lilith could not endure another word. She left Lady Enders to deal with any stampeding gentlemen, took Lord Enders as her own escort, and made for the box of an old friend of her grandmother.

Mrs. Davenant was careful to remain with the ancient dowager until the last minutes of the interval. There were several famous gossips in the audience. Thanks to Lord Brandon's attention-drawing gesture, they would be sure to seek her out.

She and Lord Enders had nearly reached the door of his box when Sally Jersey popped out of it.

"Why, my dear Lilith," the countess gushed, "whatever have you done with your betrothed?"

"Lord Liverpool had need of him," Lilith answered tightly. "Lord and Lady Enders were kind enough to invite my niece and me to join them this night."

"Oh, yes. Rachel made me acquainted with your niece. Charming girl. Naturally, you may expect vouchers for Almack's. We dare not deny them," she said with a silvery laugh. "The gentlemen would be sure to break out in violence."

"That is exceedingly kind of you." Lilith moved to let her pass, but before the widow could step through the door, Lady Jersey's gloved hand dropped lightly upon her arm.

"Speaking of gentlemen," the countess said too sweetly,

"I was not aware you were acquainted with Brandon."

"Nor was I," Lilith said with perfect composure. As soon as she spoke, she experienced once more the odd prickling in her neck.

"Not formally introduced, that is," came a low, resonant voice behind her. "May I suggest the oversight be corrected?"

Lilith turned slightly. The green eyes were lazily contemplating her shoulders — or rather, the prim few inches to be seen of them.

She threw him one frigid glance, then deliberately turned her back. Mercifully, Lord Enders was holding open the door to the opera box. As Lilith entered, she heard Sally say, "Why, Brandon, you rogue, I don't believe she wants to know you." The door closed, cutting off her ensiling tinkle of laughter.

Apprised by her husband of the confrontation, Lady Enders congratulated Lilith. "You did right," she declared. "One can only hope the others will follow your example and shun him as he deserves."

Cecily made no comment, and Lilith wondered whether the girl had heard a word. Though Cecily sat, her attention apparently fixed on the stage, a rapt expression glazed her eyes, and from time to time her glance stole across the hall.

The object of this devoted study knew nothing of it. Lord Robert Downs was, as usual, devotedly studying the countenance of his mistress.

As soon as Lord Brandon reentered the box, the mistress turned her amused attention to him.

"I wonder if I can make a guess, milord, what drove you from us the instant the curtain fell," she teased.

"There is no need to guess," he answered. "In twelve minutes, half the audience will know. In another twelve, the other half. By the end of the performance, the Watch will be announcing it."

"Ah, he bowed so beautifully, did he not, Robin? Still, the lady will not smile. She will not even look his way."

"Which lady is that, Julian?" Lord Robert asked. He was apparently the only person in the theatre who had not observed Society's latest sensation.

"It does not signify. It is certainly not worth interrupting your conversation with your beautiful friend." The marquess dropped carelessly into his seat.

"It is the widow,
mon cher
," Elise confided. "I have the suspicion your cousin takes a fancy to Madame Davenant."

"Madame who?"

Elise touched a finger to Lord Robert's lips. The music had recommenced.

Lord Brandon joined the couple for a late supper at the Piazza. As he'd predicted, word of the widow's snub had sped through the audience — thanks no doubt to the kind offices of Silence Jersey.

"She cut you, Julian?" Robert asked, aghast. "But no one has ever done that. No one would dare. Who the devil does she think she is?"

"She is the Widow Davenant," said his mistress. "Half the ladies are afraid of her, and all the gentlemen. She is a paragon. Everyone in the ton is naughty sometimes, no? But they are discreet, and so everyone knows, perhaps, yet they make believe they are all virtue. But Madame is all virtue. She has never stepped wrong, even the little step."

"Gad, she sounds awful. I must say, Julian, when Elise pointed her out, you could have knocked me over with a feather. She's not at all in your style."

Lord Brandon slowly turned his wineglass, apparently studying its colour with great care. "Thank you for calling that to my attention, Cousin," he said. "I was ill, you know. Evidently my vision suffered. My short-sightedness has been mentioned before."

Elise shrugged. "She is very handsome, I think. Not a great beauty, but very fine. It is her air, perhaps."

Something flickered in the green eyes. It was quickly hooded, but perhaps not quickly enough, for Elise contin-ued, "She is strong and proud. I think she has great will. It is not easy for a widow — for any woman alone — even in the Beau Monde. Or perhaps it is more difficult there, Still, one hears never a whisper of scandal about her. She presents her nieces, and always they many well."

"You seem to know a great deal about this lady," said the marquess.

"Ah,
je sais tout
. It amuses me. The shopgirls are always so willing to repeat what they fear. Everyone wonders about Madame, because she is a mystery. She has no intimate friends. Her companion knows as little what is in the widow's heart as do the horses of the fine carriage that brought us here."

By this time, Robert had had quite enough of the widow. He had much rather hear of doings in France and wherever else Julian bad been.

Obligingly the marquess turned to Talleyrand and Castle-reagh and Metternich and Czar Alexander and the rest, His anecdotes were, as one would expect, wickedly amusing, if the telling bored him even more than usual and his mind wandered elsewhere more than once, one of his listeners at .least did not remark it.

The following Monday, Cecily's aunt accompanied her to the dressmaker's. As usual, Lilith's in-laws' notions of a proper Season's wardrobe had been sadly inadequate. Since this was usual, she was not taken unawares. She had carefully hoarded a sum for this express purpose. She would have probably done so in any case: treating her nieces to clothes and trinkets was one of her special pleasures.